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Elan Morgan is a writer and web designer who works from Elan.Works, a designer and editor at GenderAvenger, and a speaker who has spoken across North America. They believe in and work to grow both personal and professional quality, genuine community, and meaningful content online.

Feb 22 The Death Knell Tolls Not For Me

I can’t believe, with my love of facts, that I had never heard of the blog Vitamin Q. Thanks, Starcat.

Find out where you stand politically without falling into the narrow trap of left and right. Go to Political Compass. I was shocked at my leftist libertarianism.

Guido Molinari, one of Canada's most influential modern painters, has died at the age of 70.

I’m having huge issues. This always happens with the early signs of the end of the deep freeze of winter. I feel like things should be getting done. I am not sure exactly what things, but things, you know, important stuff. (I just accomplished one thing – I just made the best pot of coffee I have had in weeks, I swear). Yesterday, I felt all shifty, like internally I was hopping from one foot to the other, full of energy but unclear where to direct it. So, I blogged a bit, which filled some time, I got to read a lot, which is always good, and it’s kind of social in a sick kind of way. That ended, and I was filled with the nowwhat?nowwhat?nowwhats?. It is like I am three sometimes. I was standing around in the living room whining about how I needed to get out of the apartment, but that I hate just going for a walk, because it seems so aimless, and the mere idea of going for a walk makes me more restless for the aimlessness of it, but that I really wanted to go for a walk..... I really can be sickening sometimes. Finally, the Fiery One suggested that we go for a walk together, which eased my walk stress. I can definitely walk with someone else. Then there is a point to it. We can talk, sit on a bench somewhere, decide to eat somewhere, and investigate the scarey public restrooms by the scum-pond-called-a-lake in the middle of the city. Am I ever glad the Fiery One took me out of the apartment and the little useless hell I was creating for myself with my mind. It was zero degrees out (that’s 32 degrees Fahrenheit for you american folks), which is a far cry from the -42 we’d dipped to (that’s -43.6 in Fahrenheit). Rooves were dripping, the sidewalks were slushy, where the pavement dips down at corners was filled with brown, ugly water. It felt like I could breathe again. And the sunlight. It is so precious here when it starts coming back. For months now, I have arrived at work in darkness and have left work just as the sun is beginning to set, so between that and the many grey days, I have had little exposure to full daytime sun since the fall. Yesterday, the sun was out all yellow and oh-so-visible. I could actually feel the warmth of it against my face and my dark jeans. We walked along the paths that are set out along the circumference of the lake talking about kids, work, friends, dogs, walking, runners (the people, not the shoes), winter fat, open coats, Gordon, and the huge earth-moving vehicles that are digging the drained lake deeper. (That’s right, the city drained the whole lake and is digging the whole thing sixteen feet deeper). For months, I have been brooding secretively about mortality and the cheapness of life and what’s the point of anything in the face of death and am I now on the road to getting old while looking back at a wasted youth, and so on it goes. I have always been freaked out by time. Well, not always, but nearly always. It started on my fifth birthday. It was a huge turning point in my life where I graduated from tiny-kidness to being a regular kid with big death issues. I remember that day so well. I was sitting at one end of the kitchen table on one of those booster seats, because I was small for my age. My father was standing against the counter, and behind him was my maternal grandmother, and behind her was my maternal grandfather just outside the entrance to the room. My mother walked in with my birthday cake topped with five lit candles, and as she entered, time slowed down. All sound stopped, although I knew they were singing the birthday song to me. Their mouths made opening and closing O’s, but nothing reached my ears. She passed my grandfather, my grandmother, my father, and then she was in front of me, forming a line of us ordered by age from the very young to the very old, and I knew at that exact moment for the first time that life was short and I was going to die. I knew that my grandparents had been five at a time that was probably only yesterday to them, and that my parents were going to be old tomorrow, and so was I. (It’s funny, because now my parents are older than theirs were at my fifth birthday, and that does seem like yesterday). It was such an overwhelming realization, so big for my little kid brain, that I just imploded. I spent the rest of the day in my room crying. I knew that a whole era of my life was gone forever and that I would never really be here because time moved forward too quickly. And I was only five. It shattered something very basic in me, some kind of trust that I had had in the world. I remember that sense of security, but I can no longer taste it, so it is gone. I don’t know that it can ever be recovered. Back to the walk. We had been walking for about 45 minutes or more, and it suddenly occurred to me (I’m trying to get those overused, cliched phrases out of my language, but I’m still letting a lot of them slide) that my usual background panic wasn’t there. It is always there, especially loud during the winter months, but there is definitely a constant hum, an undercurrent of this mortal fear in every moment. But not yesterday, not during our walk around the empty lake. I felt more free, lighter, unencumbered. I was able to enjoy walking and talking with the Fiery One without the weight of death pressing against my chest and spine. Being the seasonally depressed sort that I am, I know that the sunlight and warmer weather played a large role in helping me to come out from under the oppressive thumb, but something else happened, something new. It’s like I knew that I am bigger than I feel. I am more than I give myself credit for, even if I will end up six feet under in the end. There is something new for me that my mind is just grasping hold of. I spent the afternoon enjoying something without the incessant dark commentary running in the back of my mind, and I honestly cannot remember when that last happened for me. I do hope this sense does not just drift away from me.

Hmmm. I couldn’t figure out if I cared or not at first, because I have this natural stiffening of the spine at the mere mention of the term “chick lit” and all the stupid books it has helped to bring into the world, but on second perusal, I do like this site. I am not usually into forums, but some of the ones here are really a good read even. chicklit. Go there.

Thousands of Palestinians attended a protest against the West Bank wall. Walls don’t work, they are an act of desperation, and they do come down. Oh wait, what about the Great Wall of China? I revise that. Most walls.

Elan Morgan is a writer and web designer who works from Elan.Works, a designer and editor at GenderAvenger, and a speaker who has spoken across North America. They have been seen in the Globe & Mail, Best Health, Woman's Day, and Flow magazines, TEDxRegina, and on CBC News and Radio. They believe in and work to grow both personal and professional quality, genuine community, and meaningful content online.

Elan Morgan is a writer and web designer who works from Elan.Works, a designer and editor at GenderAvenger, and a speaker who has spoken across North America. They have been seen in the Globe & Mail, Best Health, Woman's Day, and Flow magazines, TEDxRegina, and on CBC News and Radio. They believe in and work to grow both personal and professional quality, genuine community, and meaningful content online.